A Slight Misunderstanding
by dance-in-storms
Summary: Because Peeta Mellark is definitely, without-a-doubt, one hundred percent gay. Modern AU, Katniss/Peeta.


**Hey everyone!**

**I know a lot of people wanted chapter three of Just Roommates, and I promise I'll try to get it up soon, but I've been suffering from a bit of writer's block and instead thought fleshing this idea out into a one-shot would be a good way to get myself back on track. I hope you like it - it's my first time trying to write smut and I'm not sure how it turned out.**

**Just a disclaimer: any controversial opinions in this story (especially regarding gay/homosexual people) do no necessarily reflect my own thoughts on the subject. I am truly sorry if anyone is offended by what I've written, so this is just a warning.**

**On that note, please enjoy, and let me know what you think!**

* * *

A Slight Misunderstanding

Katniss Everdeen does not like blondes.

She decides this one afternoon while sitting in the cafeteria with her best friend, Gale Hawthorne, and his girlfriend, Madge Undersee. Madge, of course, is a blonde, but Katniss likes Madge, mostly because Madge doesn't squeal. This makes her an anomaly. Katniss decides Madge would fit in better with black hair, or maybe even a soft brunette. Not a ginger, though – the temper doesn't fit her mild-mannered friend.

She tells Gale and Madge her revelation, and needless to say, they are both entirely too amused.

She crosses her arms, annoyed, and scowls at the hilarity her "friends" are currently deriving from her all-too-serious realization. It continues for over a minute until finally Katniss peeks under the table, aims, and kicks Gale hard in the shin.

Gale's laughs subside and he pretends to wipe away tears. "Ow. Poor Catnip," he says, reaching out to pat her comfortingly. Katniss pulls away and frowns at him. Madge, still chuckling, pushes her yellow hair back from her face – _damn blondes_ – and drops the napkin she's crumpled in her fist while consumed with mirth.

"Leave her alone, Gale," Madge says, returning to her sandwich. Katniss turns her glare on the girl across the table.

"_You_ were laughing just as much," she accuses sharply. Madge shrugs, but the edges of her mouth quirk upwards as she takes a bite of bread.

"So do tell, Catnip," says Gale, leaning forward on his elbows. He appears fully engrossed in whatever she's about to say, but his grey eyes are twinkling. "Why _do_ you hate blondes so much?"

Katniss is just about to throw her hands up in the air and ask who _doesn't_ hate blondes (sorry, Madge) while rattling off a long list – squealing, talking-about-boy-ing, lip-gloss-applying, partying, more squealing – when a burst of high-pitched giggles diverts her attention to a table right in the center of the crowded room, where a group of – who else? – blonde girls is congregated, surrounding another species member of the opposite gender.

Katniss may not like blondes, but there's no one she dislikes more than Peeta Mellark.

She can barely see him through the commotion of the yellow-haired, twittery females, but her eyes catch movement and knows he must be talking with his hands, the way he always does. He has big hands, and strong forearms, which he always bares by rolling up his sleeves. They must be a product of all the bakery work he does – naturally, his family (parents a happily married couple, 2.4 kids?) owns a small, locally successful business that sells killer cheese buns.

Not that she's been there personally. Madge brought them to her once.

For some odd reason though, Madge (and the rest of the student body, excepting Katniss and Gale) _likes_ Peeta Mellark.

The crowd of girls around the baker's boy shifts and Katniss catches a clear glimpse of him. He's chattering animatedly to Delly Cartwright, whose dirty blonde hair is so straightened it's practically falling out. Like always, he's dressed impeccably with his hair ruffled in casual curls across his forehead and a red sweater pulled over a plaid button-down shirt. Katniss can't see his pants from where she's sitting, but she bets they're khakis.

As she watches, Delly lays a hand on his arm flirtatiously, throwing her head back in laughter at something he's said. Katniss sees him flinch, almost imperceptibly, and carefully slip his way out from under Delly's touch. She's not surprised, and not just because Delly resembles a deflated scarecrow.

Girls _love _Peeta Mellark. He must be so used to it. The attention. His looks aren't bad. All the features in the right place. Katniss has heard rumors about his eyes. She's seen the angle of his jaw. He's not tall, but she can appreciate a good body like any other girl.

Not that she's _noticed_ or anything.

"Katniss? Earth to Katniss. See something you like?" Gale smirks as his gaze follows hers. "Mellark? Are you serious?"

"What about Peeta?" Madge asks, sliding back into her seat from where she's just returned from throwing away the remains of her lunch.

"Katniss was _staring_ at him." Katniss kicks Gale again, but it's too late, because Madge _almost _squeals.

(But thank God she doesn't).

"You were staring at Peeta? Oh, Katniss." Madge clasps her hands together. "He's so cute!" Gale grunts. "You two would be_ adorable_, I mean – oh, wait! He invited me to his party this weekend, you should _absolutely_ come with me!"

Gale clears his throat, and Madge cuts off (by this point, Katniss has decided that Madge is just as airheaded as the rest of those blondes stuck on damned Mellark, and has half a mind to tell her so. Also, she's pretty sure her face resembles a strangled tomato. Her olive skin tone doesn't do well with blushing) to turn her eyes on her disgruntled boyfriend and smile sweetly up at him.

"You can come, too! I just thought you hated parties."

"Did someone say party?"

Ah, _fuck_.

Peeta Mellark in all his clean-shaven glory drops into the chair next to Madge. Katniss notes that he is indeed wearing khakis (who would've guessed?) which hug his hips and legs rather flatteringly, and this discovery makes her scowl even more when his knee accidentally bumps hers under the table. She scoots away and narrows her eyes threateningly at both him and Madge, who is beaming like Christmas came early.

"Hey, Peeta, what a coincidence!" Katniss tries to kick Madge, too, but instead bangs her toe on the edge of the chair. She grits her teeth. Madge continues innocently, but with a mischievous grin illuminating her features. "I was just mentioning your party on Saturday to Katniss and Gale here."

Peeta Mellark's bright blue eyes, accompanied by a smile, wash over her like a tide, and Katniss has to struggle, for just one moment, to keep her menacing façade steadfast. For just one moment. And then the spell is gone and Mellark is looking at Gale. The happiness drips off his face like melting ice, and is replaced by something that seems more like a grimace. "Were you now? And what did they say to that?"

Katniss opens her mouth to reply a second too late. Madge's voice slices loudly through the air. "They would love to come!"

"Really?" Mellark looks at Katniss beamingly, and she is again stunned by the power of his eyes. She tries to protest, but Madge kicks her, making solid contact on her shin. _Fucking ow_.

"I… uh…"

"Yes, really, you silly," Madge answers, and drapes her arm around Mellark in a quick hug. "I'm so excited!"

Mellark grins charmingly and straightens his crimson sweater. "Me, too. I'll see you guys around, then. Bye, Madge, Katniss. Gale."

He ambles off, and Katniss is disgusted when she finds herself tracing the shape of his butt in those khakis. _It's the damn pants. They must make every guy's butt look good_.

Luckily, Madge doesn't catch her ogling. _Madge_. Katniss is suddenly quivering with anger. She fights the urge to lunge across the table and grab the blonde girl by the collar, but only because she knows Gale would kill her. Well, actually, she's not sure. Right now, Gale is looking pretty pissed too. Meanwhile, Madge looks so satisfied with herself that Katniss has to physically count backwards in order to calm down.

"What… the _hell_… was that?"

"_That_, my dear Katniss, was your first invitation to a party. Which is being held by a _very_ adorable boy, if I do say so myself, and he seems interested too – I mean, did you see the way he looked at you when you said you would go?"

"You mean when _you_ said I would go?" Katniss throws her hands into the air exasperatedly. "_I _never said _anything_ – I never got the chance! Now I _have_ to go, because I feel morally obligated to, and also I'm a _nice person_, unlike you scheming little – agh! I hate girls!"

Madge remains unperturbed. "No one ever said you _had_ to go, Katniss. I was just giving you the opportunity. And it's a damn good one, too, if I do say so myself. You get the chance to jump the boy of your dreams, I get the chance to see my lovely boyfriend here drunk out of his mind… it's a win-win situation."

"Now wait a second," Katniss says. "No one said Gale was going." She shoots him a look.

Madge rolls her eyes. "_Please_. Like you have any say in this matter." The blonde rolls up her sleeves as if she's preparing to fight a linebacker and pivots ninety degrees in her seat to face Gale, resting her palms on his thighs. He inhales sharply. Katniss clenches her fists.

"Gale?" Madge begins to inch her hands up his legs, and he swallows visibly. "Will you _please _go to Peeta's party with me?"

"_Gale,_" Katniss begins warningly, but then Madge leans forward and places her lips to Gale's ear, whispering quickly and softly. Katniss watches in despair as her best friend's cheeks turn a bright red, and he lurches back, easing his girlfriend's touch off of his upper thighs. When he turns to Katniss, she groans.

"Katniss, I'm sorry, I –"

"Save it," she says. "_Fine,_ I'll go."

"Great!" Madge claps her hands, apparently unaware of the fact that she's transformed from sexy seductress girlfriend to bubbly, effervescent blonde chick in about zero-point-two seconds. "This'll be so fun! And you and Peeta will hook up, and me and Gale will… um, anyways, we can totally double date after this is over, it'll be the best –"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." Katniss says. "No. Stop the damn train. There will be no _hooking up_ between me and freaking Peeta Mellark. That is a negative. No. There are so many things wrong with that. Ew. God. Absolutely not. Nuh-uh. Not in a million years."

"Methinks the lady doth protest too much," Madge says, winking. "Besides, why are you so against Peeta anyways? What could possibly be wrong with him?"

There are lots of things wrong with him, Katniss thinks. Like the way he leads on all those girls who stick to him like barnacles to a ship's hull. Like how she _knows_ he knows that basically the entire school is in love with him, and still he manages to carry himself easily and confidently, flirting with seniors in the hallway. Like how whenever she's running and she sees the football team doing a workout there are always hordes of females crowded around the bleachers squealing whenever he strips his damned shirt off.

There's one reason more, and Katniss hasn't shared this with anyone, but she has enough evidence that she's _positive_ it's true.

It's because Peeta Mellark is definitely, without-a-doubt, one-hundred-percent gay.

She can't tell anyone, though, because it might be one of the only things she respects about him, so instead she shrugs and just says, "I just don't like him, all right?"

While Madge sighs and then begins spattering out a list of _other_ possible hook-up choices, Katniss tunes her out and picks at her apple. Saturday can't come slowly enough.

* * *

However, Saturday does eventually arrive, and Saturday night finds Katniss sitting on the edge of a rather comfortable couch, cheap beer in hand, curling her legs away from the couple making out on the other end of the sofa. She twirls her braid around her finger and chugs the remaining alcohol in the cup, squinting through the dim, sweat-soaked room to see if she can find Madge and Gale anywhere.

She's just about to get up and go look for them – it's been an hour, and she wants to leave – when someone plunks down next to her, and she's dismayed to find it's the one person she's been avoiding all evening.

"Katniss! You came!" Peeta Mellark is tipsy. She can see it in the flush of his cheeks and the heightened blue of his eyes and the careless toss of his curls, yet he still manages to look unrumpled and neat. He's wearing a long sleeved shirt that's the color of the sky and dark wash jeans. She leans back slightly from him – he's sitting far too close for comfort.

"Uh… yeah. I did. Um, great party." She's never been good at faking enthusiasm, and Mellark, even in his slightly inebriated state, is more perceptive than she thought.

"No, you're lying." He points an accusing finger. "You're not having fun. I know you. You looked lonely, so I came over here."

She frowns. "I'm not _lonely!_" (But she is). "And you didn't have to come over here, really… go back to your friends." (Please leave).

He swigs his beer. "Nah." Hesitates. "Besides, I've been looking for you all night."

Katniss almost chokes. "You? Looking for me?"

Mellark nods vigorously. "Yep. I've been almost _staked out_ by the front door, waiting to see if you'd come in. You didn't, though, so I decided to get a drink. Or two. I dunno. I didn't count, but I hold 'em pretty well."

Katniss grips her plastic cup so hard she thinks it might crack. "You're drunk, Mellark. Why would you be looking for me?"

He shrugs. "Why wouldn't I be?" She doesn't have an answer for that, so he turns away and lets his gaze wander the room, alighting on the shadowy silhouettes that dance to the terrible, top 40 music which blasts through a pair of huge speakers on the mantle. He takes another sip of beer, and she observes the slight clench of his strong jaw as he swallows.

"Well, I…" She clears her throat, because if there's one thing she hates more than awkward conversation, it's awkward silence. "I'm sorry to have kept you waiting."

"S'ok," he says, snapping his eyes back to her. She feels kind of deer-in-the-headlights. He pauses, as if mustering his courage for something (God knows what that could be), then blurts out, "Why do you hate me?"

"Hate you?" Katniss doesn't _hate _him – not technically. Well, if she's being technical, then she _could_ say she hates him, but it's definitely more in "dislike" territory. "I would say 'hate' is a bit harsh, Mellark, why would you think I –"

"Peeta," he interrupts. She stares. "My name is Peeta."

"I know that," she says. "But your _last_ name is Mellark, and that's what I call you… it's what I've _called_ you for the past four years –"

"Yeah, but you used to call me Peeta," he says. "Before that, I mean." He clears his throat. "So, um, I guess I'd prefer it if you would call me that again. I – the only people who call me 'Mellark' are my teammates, and I don't really see you as the manly type…" He trails off, looking for a laugh, but Katniss is too shocked to form coherent thought, let alone words, and he continues awkwardly. "So… yeah. I'd like if you'd call me Peeta. I call you Katniss, so I was just thinking, since being on a one-sided first-name basis is a little weird, why not return the favor?"

"Return the – okay." Screw being gay, she's decided Peeta Mellark is officially crazy. "Okay. Peeta." She tries it out – it rolls off her tongue differently from 'Mellark,' much less harsh in her mouth.

"Better," he says. Then he puts his hand on her knee, and she has to keep from jumping too much.

_What is he _doing?

"So tell me, Katniss." He flexes his fingers ever so slightly, and she quivers like a taut bowstring. "Why _do_ you hate me?"

"I don't" – she coughs slightly at how intensely he's looking at her, and focuses away from him, on putting her empty cup down on the table beside the couch. She can still feel his eyes. "I don't hate you, Mel – Peeta."

She just catches how his gaze drops to her lips when she forms his first name, and she shifts uncomfortably. _He's gay, Katniss, remember, you've got nothing to worry about_.

"You act like you do," he says, returning his ocean eyes to her face. She can swim, but doesn't think she would be able to, not in those eyes. "You're always so hostile towards me, you're always scowling – what have I ever done to you?"

"I… um, Peeta, I think you're mistaken." His words have never held more truth. "I don't hate you, Peeta, I just – um, we don't exactly, you know… we don't exactly run in the same social circles, and, uh, I'm really uncomfortable around, like, people in general, so it's… it's" (she cringes at her terrible choice of words) "it's really not you, it's me, I'm sorry, I –"

That's the moment he chooses to lean forward and kiss her, and she is so dumbfounded that for a second she kisses him back (he tastes like beer and bread) before shoving him off of her.

_He's gay._

"I – what the… I – _what the fuck was that?_"

He's breathing heavily like he's just run a marathon. "What do you think? I kissed you."

"You – _what?_" she practically screams. "I – no! _No!_" At the crushed look on his face, she scrambles to explain. "I just – I, oh God, I thought – I thought –"

"Thought what?" he asks. "Thought that I didn't like you? Because if you did, you're wrong. Obviously. I've wanted to do that for a long time now." His gaze darts back down to her lips, as if he'd rather like to do it again (to kiss her again). She wants to cover herself up, to pull a pillow over her face and hide, or maybe just kill herself now so she won't have to live through this humiliating moment. Because she _knows_ it will be humiliating.

"I thought you were gay!"

The words spill out of her mouth like a broken dam, and Katniss for the first time in her life witnesses a very speechless Peeta Mellark.

"You thought I was _what?_" he gets out after a few minutes of dead-fish-like gaping.

She cringes. "Gay. I thought you were…"

"No, no, I heard you the first time, you don't have to say it again." His voice is clipped, detached, so the next words startle her because they're so full of emotion. "You thought I – oh my _God_, that is _so – _and here I thought you – fuck, that is so embarrassing, I – _you thought I was gay_?"

It's her turn to blush now, and she does, very thoroughly. "I – yeah."

He expels a long, pent-up breath, setting down his beer cup slowly and tangling all ten of his fingers in his hair. "I don't – um – that's never…" He seems completely at a loss, and she can see the color creeping into his cheeks. "Can you please… _explain_… to me why in the _hell_ you thought I was gay?"

The accusing tone of his voice sets her off, dragging her out of guilt into anger. "It's not like it was perfectly justified!" she shrills, furiously pulling at her braid. "I mean, you're always surrounded by a bunch of hot girls and you never seem to show any interest in them –"

"They're my _friends_," Peeta interjects.

She scoffs. "_Right._ Friends who flirt with you and would like nothing more than your hand down their skintight jeans."

Peeta looks stunned, and she takes advantage of that to continue her rant, afraid that if she doesn't finish it now, she'll never be able to get the words out. "And you always dress so well, and plus you're so nice and you're smart and you're attractive and those three don't go hand-in-hand without _something_ being wrong. You've never had a girlfriend, not that there aren't any perfectly good options hanging on to you 24/7, and don't think I've noticed the way you look at Gale, he's the only one you look at like that. With this… this _face_ that's just so different from how you regard everyone else, and –"

"And you thought it was because I _liked_ him?" Peeta says incredulously. "Are you _serious_?"

She's so offended by his condescending choice of words that she almost slaps him, but refrains because she's still, despite her rage, curious. "What was I _supposed_ to think?"

The boy in front of her throws his hands up in the air, all traces of tipsiness gone. "Maybe you were supposed to think that I was _jealous_?"

The breath is knocked from her like she's just been hit by a truck. "I… what? Jealous? You…?"

It's his turn to fume now, and he does so passionately, his blue eyes blazing with resentment and confusion and all sorts of emotions that she can't decipher in the pulsing light of the party. She's almost forgotten where they are.

"Yeah, I was _jealous_. Of course I was. Give me one reason not to be jealous of Gale Hawthorne, Katniss!" Her name spits from his lips harshly, and she winces. "He was always hanging aroundyou, always the only one who could make you laugh… _he_ got to hug you and comfort you and tug your braid – and of course I was jealous of him! I wanted to _be_ him! I wanted to be the one you ran to for help, I wanted to get to hold you in my arms and tell you everything would be okay… for God's sake, are you really trying to tell me that you've been so oblivious all these years that you really didn't _know_ how hard I tried not to look at you and think about you, every waking minute of every day? Are you really telling me that you _don't_ know the effect you can have?"

It's not the only thing she hasn't known – she's discovered the way of words that Peeta Mellark seems to possess so inherently, something which she lacks desperately. It leaves her shocked, yet she is still able to chart every line and angle of his face at that one moment. His cheeks are reddened and his lips are pressed together and curved slightly downwards, and his hair is a mussed-up tangle of curls, and once she catches the sight of the impossibly long eyelashes that surround the expressive eyes which she literally believes (pardon the cliché) that she could drown in, she realizes she is a complete and utter goner.

She wants to kiss Peeta Mellark on that frowning mouth _now_. She thinks she would prefer to see him smile, too, but that would require _not_ kissing him, and she doesn't know what's wrong with her hormones (damn estrogen) but she knows that once she leans in and makes contact, she won't be able to pull away.

Katniss is snapped from her reverie when Peeta gives a huff of annoyance and moves to leave. "I can't believe I've spent this much time on you. So many years thinking that maybe _one day _you'd give me a chance, and it turns out that all you've thought about me is… is _this_. I cannot believe myself. Dammit, Katniss." There's her name again, and she hates how bitter it sounds on his tongue. She chokes back the wave of suggestive ideas that whisper what she _would_ like to hear (and feel) on his tongue, and manages to get out a question through the throat that has become inexplicably dry.

"Years?"

He scrapes back his blonde locks exasperatedly. "Since kindergarten. We were in class, and it was the first day, and you were singing. I swear, the birds stopped to listen when you sang." He closes his eyes briefly, his lashes brushing his cheeks. "I guess it's all been for nothing, though."

When he stands, she reaches out, without thinking, to grab his hand. He freezes and looks down at her, and her face must betray _something_, because he swallows and says, "Don't do this, Katniss."

But she does. She grabs the front of his shirt and yanks him back down over her, slams her lips onto his clumsily, and despite his previous protest he responds almost immediately, dragging her up onto her feet so he's not awkwardly crouched over her and looping an arm around her waist to pull her flush against him. She traces the lines of his torso before reaching up and twining her fingers in the soft curls at the base of his neck, tugging gently. He moans appreciatively in response, and she finds herself incredibly turned on by the sound.

When his lips part, she takes advantage of it to explore his mouth eagerly, ensnaring her tongue with his and allowing her hands to travel down his back, sensing the hard muscle beneath the fabric of his flimsy shirt. In turn, he grows bold and slips his fingertips under the edge of her top, blazing hot trials across her skin that reverberate straight between her legs as he holds her even closer, and she can feel the beginnings of his hard-on pressing through his jeans into her lower abdomen.

As she kisses him, she doesn't know how she's been able to live so long without the feeling of his lips against hers – his mouth moves confidently, expertly, and easily, and she can't believe she could ever have thought a boy who kisses this well could be gay.

Not that Katniss has anything against people who are gay – she just finds that she is rather relieved that Peeta Mellark isn't. She could do this all day.

When her need for oxygen becomes stronger than the power of her raging hormones, she breaks away, gasping for air, and he does the same, resting his forehead against hers as she takes in his swollen lips and his eyes which have darkened in lust, the pupils huge in the cerulean irises. She brings a hand up to smooth the sharp line of his jaw, and his eyelids flutter in response.

"Do you want to go upstairs?" she asks lowly, setting a kiss on the corner of his mouth.

He gulps visibly. "More than anything."

At his affirmation she grabs his hand and he stops for only a second to discreetly adjust his jeans before leading her through the mass of dancing bodies (right. The party. Right.) towards a doorway that leads into the foyer. Katniss glimpses Gale and Madge making out by the staircase, but the notion of leaving could not be farther from her mind as Peeta practically lugs her up the stairs after him. The pumping music is much quieter when they reach the upstairs hallway and it's dark, but she can feel carpet beneath her boots.

Peeta throws open the second door on the right and clicks on a lamp. She barely has time to take in the sight of his room – bed against one wall, a desk, a nightstand, a dresser – before he strides back over to lock the door behind her. Without preamble, he throws her up against it to attack her mouth with his own once more. Katniss clutches at his hair and hitches one of her legs up his hips, hauling him even closer, and grinds against his growing erection. He grips her waist, thumbing just along the underside of her breasts, and she wants more, she wants all of it, she wants his touch on her skin and between her legs.

Somehow between the frenzied kisses and clumsy fumbles she ends up on the edge of the bed, him propped up on his forearms over her, his tongue drawing heated lines down her neck and across her collarbone. After a couple minutes she grows impatient and reaches down for the hem of his shirt. "Off," she groans, and Peeta draws back slightly, chuckling.

"Good things come to those that wait," he teases, and she thinks about hitting him but instead takes a different approach. She arches her back and rolls her hips teasingly against his, and his breath catches (so does hers). "On second thought, waiting is overrated." He shucks the shirt over his head and Katniss for the first time gets to appreciate a very shirtless Peeta Mellark.

He's all muscle and pale, toned skin, and she gawks openly at the broad, smooth expanse of his bare chest until he flushes self-consciously under her gaze. The red of his blush travels all the way down to just above his bellybutton.

"I like these," she says, finally finding her voice. She flattens her palm over the hard muscles of his abdomen before running her pointer finger down to feel the fine hairs under his navel that disappear below his dark jeans. He moans softly, digging his pelvis into hers.

She can feel the wetness pooling between her legs, but never has she needed anything more than whatever this boy is doing to her now. He's kissing her again, and his lips work dark magic on her body as he grasps her waist. Boldly, aggressively, she takes his hands and places them on her chest, and gasps when he _touches_ her, really touches her, groping her breasts over her clothes. Katniss thinks maybe she could stay like this forever, but soon enough it's too little sensation (she feels drunk on him, she's drunk on his breath and his hands and his bare skin). She tugs her shirt off and throws it away, where it presumably joins his on the ground.

She's embarrassed for one moment at her plain, black cotton bra – it's not like she was _planning_ to get lucky tonight – but it fades quickly when Peeta stares, mumbles something unintelligible, and fuses their mouths together again. The headiness of the kiss fuels her desire, and she feels around until she discovers the cool metal button of his jeans. When she pops it out of the buttonhole, he breaks the kiss.

"Katniss," he pants, and his hair is a damp mess on his head, and his eyes are midnight – "Katniss, do you really…"

"Shh," she says. And to prove her point, she slips her hand inside his jeans and underwear to grip his warm length in her fingers.

He lets out a low hiss at her touch – "Fuck" – and then thankfully shuts up, helping her work his pants down his hips, followed quickly by his boxer-briefs. And then he's naked, and she takes his thick, hard cock in her palm and begins to pump it slowly. Peeta swallows.

Katniss has only done this once before (and she's still a virgin) so she's unsure as she continues to stroke him, up and down. She perceives him swelling in her hand and it's a strange feeling, one full of lust and pride – _she's_ doing this to him, _she's_ making him moan as he clutches the bed sheets in his fists, legs shaking as he struggles to hold himself up. She chances a look at his face, and it makes her thighs tremble and her panties soaked – his hooded eyes are locked on her ministrations, his jaw is clenched tightly, and his arms and torso are tensed, muscles inadvertently flexed, as she proceeds to jerk him off. The sight turns her on so much she wants to rip off the rest of her clothes and fuck him for the rest of the night, but she holds back.

She wants to see his face when he comes.

"Harder," he gets out at one point through gritted teeth, so she (hoping she doesn't hurt him) tightens her grasp. His head falls back and he exhales slowly. "Fuck. Me. Oh my God. Please… please don't stop." She listens, swiping her thumb across the tip of his cock playfully, enjoying how he _growls_ and clenches the sheets harder. She leans up and kisses him slowly and sweetly, and when she pulls away, he's gasping.

"I… shit… my _God_… fuck, Katniss… don't stop, don't stop…"

Peeta screws up his eyes and she gets in one more good stroke before he spasms, hands uncurling and flexing against the bed, her name escaping his lips in a long, drawn out moan as he comes (he's loud, and she likes it). It gets all over her fingers but she catches it before it hits her clothing.

It's the sexiest thing she's ever seen.

He rests his forehead against hers, eyelashes fluttering, and drops a quick kiss on the corner of her mouth. "You have no idea," he says. "You have no idea how much I've gotten off thinking about you doing just that."

When his breathing has returned to normal he gets up slowly to find a washcloth, and Katniss admires his body unabashedly as he cleans himself and wipes off her hand. He notices her ogling and winks before turning his attention to her half-naked state. Katniss catches her breath when he rubs his fingertips gently along the swell of her breasts, then reaches around her for the bra clasp.

"May I?" he asks, as if nervous, and she can't resist being snarky to him.

"I just gave you a mind-blowing orgasm, and you're asking if you can take my bra off? Such a gentleman, Peeta," she mocks. He smirks in response.

"Mind-blowing? Aren't you conceited. I'll show you mind-blowing."

He unhooks the bra deftly and tosses it aside. Then he pushes her backwards gently until she's lying on the bed and steps back, just looking. His eyes darken further.

She shifts uncomfortably and tries to cover herself, but he stops her.

"Don't do that. You're beautiful."

Katniss is about to protest this, but he effectively shuts her up with a kiss and then trails his lips down her neck, laving a path from her collarbone to the top of her right breast. When he latches onto the nipple, sucking softly, she gives a sort of scream and arches upwards into his touch. At the action, she feels the start of another hard-on against her leg, but she's too far gone to care.

Whatever Peeta Mellark does with his mouth should be damn _illegal_.

In a flash, he's worked off her jeans and is tracing the line of her sopping panties. He places a kiss between her breasts and follows with dozens more down her stomach, until he reaches the edge of her underwear.

She's a hot mess, and he hasn't even gotten to the best part yet, fuck him.

And oh, how she wants to fuck him. How very, very badly.

He's a merciless tease, though, and it seems to take him _years_ to pull her panties off and away. When they're (finally) gone, he rubs a tantalizing finger down her slit and kisses her again, like he's trying to distract her from the extremely important going-ons down under.

Katniss lets out a piteous moan. "Peeta… please…"

"Please what?" he says, straightening slightly. She squirms, wanting those devilish hands back on her body, but he strays just out of reach.

"Fuck me," she breathes. He gives a sort of strangled groan, which encourages her to continue. "With your fingers, your mouth, _anything_, just… please, Peeta."

He lifts an eyebrow. "Are you ready for that mind-blowing orgasm, then?"

"Never been readier," she begs.

Still, she has to choke down a cry when he swiftly moves over her and presses two fingers inside of her, at the same time leaning down to secure her lips with his. Without really knowing what she's doing, she grinds her hips down on his hand, wanting more, yearning for that incredible release that she's sure he will grant. When he presses his thumb down firmly against her nub, she expels his name and drops her head back, fisting the sheets in a desperate attempt to alleviate the tension coiling quickly in her belly.

Vaguely, through the haze of pleasure, she realizes he's breathing just as hard as she is, whispering sensual things into her ear while his renewed erection pokes her bare thigh and his fingers plunge in and out of her. She spills her moans to the ceiling, not caring who hears – it feels so fucking _good_, and she doesn't want it to stop.

Just before she gets there – before her body explodes and she collapses in an overload of sensation – he pauses.

Katniss nearly shrieks in anger; she wants to hit him (but she can't, because she's on the brink of coming… she's so damn close), but all she manages is a weak sort of whimper, which is quickly cut off when his fingers are replaced by his mouth.

She grips the sheets so tight she's sure there will be handprints when she lets go, and arches her back so high that Peeta has to hold her down. His lips caress her folds and moisten her slit (like she can possibly be more dripping than she already is) and when he finds her clit and flattens his tongue against it, she screams so loudly she almost breaks her eardrums, her orgasm overtaking her like a tsunami, washing away all sense and feeling until she's a writhing mass of nothingness, an endless wave of pleasure that floods her body and carries her to the stars.

When she returns to earth, Peeta is standing over her, a satisfied grin on his face, his arms crossed over his broad chest. "So, Everdeen, was that mind-blowing, or was that mind-blowing?"

She manages skepticism. "I don't know, Mellark. You might have to it again, just so I can be sure…"

He laughs and drops forward, holding himself up by his arms. He looms over her.

"Still think I'm gay?"

She kisses him in reply, pulling him fully on top of her. He chuckles against her lips. "That's what I thought."


End file.
